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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29240877">Set piece</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/MymbleHowl/pseuds/MymbleHowl'>MymbleHowl</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M, Football | Soccer, Footballer!Jon, One Night Stand, Sansa doesn't know who he is, morning after stupidity, various Starks etc</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 10:15:56</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,897</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29240877</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/MymbleHowl/pseuds/MymbleHowl</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The only time Sansa Stark ever has a one night stand, her family get weird, really weird.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Jon Snow/Sansa Stark</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>94</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>402</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I'm not sure anyone will be interested in this, for a fic with a very silly premise, its gets a tiny bit serious for a second (TW-Sansa runs a domestic violence charity, there are no descriptions of domestic violence).</p>
<p>I'm British so the all Hockey Player AUs go right over my head, whereas I did spend the early 2010s on the amazing, if now defunct, Kickette, and I could have told you which WAG had which brand of buggy and the exact length of Cesc Fabregas's beard, so more Footballer!Jon please.</p>
<p>I feel rubbish about my ability to write, well anything, and my heart will beat like crazy having put this up, and kudos and comments are the best.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>The morning</strong>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Hey,” says Sansa when he comes into the kitchen. His curls are wilder even than last night, he rakes them away from his face and gives her a little twitch of a smile that lights up his dark eyes.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Hi,” he murmurs back quiet and gruff.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“This is my brother, Robb,” she says, beaming, throwing her arm out to Robb who is sitting at the counter nursing his coffee, scrolling through his phone.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“This is Jon,” she says emphatically to Robb.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Her brother looks up at her with a little frown then he looks at the man she has brought home. Sansa looks too, she can’t help it, oh he is pretty, and that fine t-shirt hints at everything, his taut strength, the corded muscle of his arms, she might be biting her tongue, just a little.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Hi,” he says to Robb, his voice just as low as last night, if a little louder, a little more polite.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>But Robb just sits there, doesn’t take Jon’s outstretched hand, he just sits there, eyes wide, apparently paralysed.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Eventually Robb squeaks “Hi,” then runs from the room, Sansa thinks he looks positively green, but he wasn’t even out last night. Surely he’s not disturbed she brought a guy home, it’s not like he’s never brought anyone home, she shakes her head and holds up the cafetière.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Coffee?” She asks Jon.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“No,” Jon says, “no thanks, I’m not supposed to,” he looks around almost sheepish, then says “water?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She gets him a glass, their fingers brush as she hands it over, she almost forgets to let go.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Jon just looks at her whilst he downs the glass, and Sansa tries not relive his fingers on her skin, after all it’s just a one-night thing.</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strong>The evening before</strong>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Sansa skips, she actually skips out of the meeting with Tyrion Lannister; the government are giving them the whole 5 million dragons. The whole 5 million. That’s out-reach programmes across the North, that’s 2 more refuges and a 24-hour domestic violence hotline.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Brienne has to rush home to the domestic juggle, but she hugs Sansa tight first.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Sansa drags Pod into the nearest downtown hotel, they have to have one drink, don’t they?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>They get talking to the bartender about what they do, her sister is in a situation which sounds like coercive control, they give a listening ear as they would in a workshop. Pod has a date, he says its not a date, he offers to cancel, walk Sansa home.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I can get myself home, go on your date,” she says with a laugh, “I’ll have one more drink.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>And she orders a martini because she’ll have to drink it slowly.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It’s after Pod goes that the boys pile in. Sansa supposes they are men really, they are certainly solid enough, groomed enough to be men, but they act like boys, they pull the women around them onto their laps, they whoop and push each other. Sansa half expects them to start wrestling, after all Robb and Theon still do, although Sansa expects even they’d refrain in fancy hotel bars. She stirs her martini slowly and tries not disapprove.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>There is a man sitting in the middle of them, with wild curls and a dark jumper, he smiles as another man grabs him round the neck, but mainly he is quiet, watchful. Their eyes meet once, he pushes the curls out of his face but keeps his gaze on her, she is not sure who looks away first.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Then the Martini is finished, Sansa gives the bartender her card with the tip, presses her hand in lieu of a hug and picks up her coat and bag. Walks briskly out and almost knocks into the quiet man.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Sorry,” Sansa says.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“What for?” He asks, he looks at her, dark eyes swirling.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Would you have a drink with me?” She asks impulsively.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I don’t drink,” he says, brusque.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>For someone reason she brims with laughter at this.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Not here,” he says, and he holds out his arm and she follows his lead.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He takes her to a dark little place, half bar, half coffeeshop, he drinks camomile tea. His jumper looks so soft Sansa has to keep stopping herself from touching it, stroking it, stroking him, as she tells him all about the charity and the grant and the current refuge. He listens with his eyes.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“It sounds,” he frowns, “I don’t know what the words are, but I think it’s good, what you’re doing.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He pauses and bites his lip, all his stern solidity gone for a second.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“My mum, my dad, well I think you’d call it coercive control now,” he says quietly, “but she left him, and we moved here, actually.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It turns out he grew up in the same bit of Wintertown she lives in now, that his mum’s flat was round the corner from the one she flatshares with her brother.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Come on,” she says, “I’ll take you on a tour, a trip down memory lane.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I don’t know how you can walk so fast in those things,” he says as she pulls him down the street.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He has his collar turned up and his head down, though it’s not particularly cold and Sansa is still half skipping.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Jon Snow, has King’s Landing turned you soft?” she chides, for that is what she has found out, that he lives and works in King’s Landing, he said he came up here for the game, she is not sure what game he means.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He frowns at her street but, “it’s all changed,” is all he says.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Sansa guesses it was more down at the heel when he lived here, she knows it still is in the corners, but there are coffeeshops now, a nice little neighbourhood restaurant painted yellow, a heaving pub that sells real ale and a range of bespoke gins. Jon steps away from the warm glare and the spill of smokers on the pavement outside this latter place.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Well this is me,” she says as she gets to her door, and she is about to take out her phone, offer her number, ask for his, when she surprises herself by saying, “come up.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“What is this?” He asks her as she leans against her front door, giddy, with having this beautiful man in his lovely jumper standing in her hall. Does his northern accent have a slight feral edge or is she imagining it?</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strong>The morning</strong>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Jon makes them both porridge, cuts up basically all the fruit she and Robb have to top it. Sansa would normally eat porridge dripping in syrup (she knows its not traditional, that her Uncle Benjen eats porridge with salt only, eurgh) but she eats this with the wonder of it having been made for her.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Does someone normally do this for you?” She asks, she is not sure why, but she has the impression he is very rich, it’s the heavy watch he has left on her bedside table, it’s the label in his coat that implies this. Is he maybe one of those tech millionaires, or some kind of whizzkid hedge fund manager?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>There is the click in the front door of a key and in bounces her sister, eyes wide and mischievous as ever.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Oooh,” Arya exclaims looking between Sansa and Jon.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“This is Jon, this is my..” Sansa begins.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Arya,” Arya shouts, interrupting her, she thrusts her hand at Jon, then hops away to open all of Sansa’s cupboards, take out Nutella, thrust bread into the toaster, shove a handful of cornflakes into her mouth from the box.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Jon watches her, looking slightly perplexed by her tornado like energy, then frowns at Sansa as if he can’t believe she’s related to this pocket dynamo.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“So,” says Arya, her mouth still apparently full of cornflakes, “you must kicking yourself for not getting on the end of that pass, could have stolen a dint on us early on there.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Jon justs grunts at her, with what might be agreement. Sansa frowns at them both, she knows her sister doesn’t hold back, but this is bit much, randomly berating a man she has never met. Maybe she has met him, after all Arya went to that Judo class round here from 6 to 15, until the parkour took over.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“What?” Says Sansa, “Do you two know each other?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“No,” says Arya frowning at her as if she is ridiculous, she turns back to Jon, “And what was that set piece about?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Jon just shrugs at her and takes another mouthful of porridge.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Maybe Arya is talking about this game he came up to watch, could they support different teams, but how would Arya know which team he supports?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You snatched it, snatched it, when really you should have run all over us, we’re basically going to be mid-table if we’re lucky and you’re what? 8 points clear in the CPL?” She shakes her head at him, “I mean I love the Wolves, but they’re piss poor this year.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Can’t argue with you there,” Jon growls.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Never fancy coming back then?” Arya asks, taking a large bite of Nutella-ed toast.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Jon just frowns at Arya sceptically. Sansa looks from her sister to this man who last night took her to places she has never been. Sansa feels a little dizzy, what is going on?</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strong>The night before</strong>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“This is me wanting you,” Sansa says, and she sounds rather breathier than she thinks is reasonable, so instead of speaking more she just strokes his lovely jumper. It is soft and he is solid underneath, strong.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“How?” Jon says, stepping close, quiet in her ear, but still with his feral northern timbre, “How do you want me?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She doesn’t say anything at first, she is struggling to think in words, let alone sentences, his breath whispers against her ear. His jumper is delicious.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I want you to kiss me,” she manages to say eventually.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Then they are kissing against the front door, his beard harsh against her skin, her lips, but she doesn’t care, she likes it. She is raw and wolfish for the sensation, for all the sensations, the softness of his jumper, the firmness of his body, the rasp of his beard, the plumpness of his lips.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>When he begins kissing her neck, she has to pull him down to her room, so she can peel off the jumper. And everything else.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“How do you want me?” He growls again when they are naked, when the solid firmness of his thigh is between her legs, (Gods, she wonders how did he get such thighs like an ancient sculpture of the warrior?), when she can trace the landscape of his shoulders with her fingers.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“How do want me?” He growls and she tells him every which way she wants him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strong>The morning</strong>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The doorbell screeches, pressed too long, then pressed again by someone who is pulsing their finger on the button annoyingly.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I’ll get it,” says Arya and she skips down the hall trailing toast crumbs behind her.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Sorry,” Sansa mouths at Jon.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“What for?” He says, though it is softer than when he said it last night, it is even followed with a quick gift of a smile.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Pest,” Sansa hears Theon greeting her sister.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Parasite,” Arya calls back in response and there is scuffle as he tries to catch her sister or she tries to catch him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Theon looks at Jon and, as he turns to her, his smirk is the widest she has even seen it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Well,” he gushes, “Sansa Stark is not one to do things by half, is she?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Theon turns back to Jon, offers his hand, “Theon Greyjoy,” he says.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Jon Snow,” Jon returns.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I know,” Theon says, then he flicks Jon across the upper arm, “You,” he says, “you have really let me down.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Jon just looks at him. Her sister was telling him off and now Theon is hitting him, Sansa feels the pink burning her cheeks and wishes, wishes, she was only child.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I had you as odds on to be the first out guy in the CPL, I mean, Yara has always maintained I am seeing things, but you know, you can always hope and the Nike advert with the ballet dancer is basically the most homoerotic thing I’ve ever seen.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Thanks,” Jon shrugs, and looks at her a little perplexed, Sansa has no idea what Theon is talking about, what Nike advert?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Jon must take her frown a different way because he immediately turns to Theon and says, “That is what the director was going for, I think, with me and Satin.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Satin’s the ballet dancer?” Theon asks.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Jon nods.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Cool,” says Theon, “Has Robb met him yet? Have you met Robb?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Where is Robb, Sansa wonders, and also should she be trying to surreptitiously google Jon Snow Nike Advert or CPL, what is the CPL?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Jon must have nodded at Theon, because then Theon says eagerly, “What did he do?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“He said hi,” says Jon generously.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You remember,” Theon says to Arya and Sansa, “How he had that programme on the wall by his bed?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Theon turns to Jon “Robb basically went to sleep, at 16, every night just staring at you, then you fucked off to KL and he took it down.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Sansa realises with a thump who he is, “You’re a footballer,” she shrieks.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>But everyone just looks at her like she’s the crazy one.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Jon finds himself at home. Sansa wears a jumper.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I don't think this is as funny and sweet. I was so surprised people liked the first bit and I hope I'm not letting it down by adding this. </p><p>So yeah I have this whole head canon where Royal Kings Landing are Real Madrid and Winterfell are Tottenham Hotspur and the Westerosi Champions is the Champions League, the whole thing is way too much and let's pretend I haven't mapped out all of Jon's career.</p><p>Kudos is still amazing. And comments, oh lovely comments.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>The morning</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>Due to a quirk of the league Jon has ended up with the weekend before the <em>Westerosi Champions Quarter Final</em> with no game and no training. Davos has told them to take some time with their families, apparently it is good for morale, which is, Jon thinks, an entirely different approach to the one Thorne had had.</p><p> </p><p>So now Jon is sitting in Sansa’s parents living room trying not to clutch her hand so tightly he hurts her because her mother appears to be glaring at him and he is not at all sure what he has got wrong.</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t really know very much about football,” Sansa’s mum, Catelyn, is saying, “I’ve heard of Torgo Nudho, he’s doing the free school meals stuff, do you do anything like that?”</p><p> </p><p>Jon just glances at Sansa, she’s nodding and smiling, as if go ahead, talk about causes you support.</p><p> </p><p>“Well,” he begins, the words falter on his tongue, “I had a season on loan at Hardhome when I was sixteen so I support a lot of organisations up there because…”</p><p> </p><p>Jon can’t even think why he supports a lot of charities up there, right now. He looks again at Sansa, a sudden flash of her welcome the previous night fills his head. He looks back at Catelyn, she’s not glaring, but she is waiting and Jon is sitting on her sofa thinking about her daughter in ways that are entirely inappropriate.</p><p> </p><p>Sansa’s eyes flick between them, she gives him a little nod, but it doesn’t help at all, she must read something about his face because she turns to her mother.</p><p> </p><p>“Jon supports charities across the North and Far North who provide sports coaching and cultural opportunities to young people in deprived areas, because their ability to access equipment, training, and expertise is very limited, often for financial reasons, but also due to more complex deprivation, and this is even more true in rural areas in the Far North.” Sansa explains.</p><p> </p><p>Her professional confidence doesn’t help Jon to stop having inappropriate thoughts, in fact for some reason, he’s now fixating on those heels she was wearing when they first met, she never wears heels when she comes to visit him in Kings Landing, he wishes she would wear heels.He realises Catelyn is looking at him again.</p><p> </p><p>Just then a lanky boy appears at the door, all hoppy energy, his hair is slightly paler than Sansa’s, less fierce and copper, but his eyes are the same.</p><p> </p><p>“I’ve some ideas for you to do on my tiktok,” he claims loudly at Jon.</p><p> </p><p>“Rickon,” say both his mother and sister in the same sharp tone.</p><p> </p><p>“What?” Rickon shrieks in reply, with the shining entitlement of a confident teenager.</p><p> </p><p>“This is my youngest brother, Rickon, this is Jon,” says Sansa, her eyebrows still raised at Rickon.</p><p> </p><p>He shrugs, “so, I was thinking I’d teach you this dance, it’s kinda my signature thing, and then people would think it was cool that an old guy like you had learnt it.”</p><p> </p><p>Jon tries not to frown too much, he supposes when he was a youth player he thought most of the first team guys were super old, but on the other hand, it still stings. He still has five or six good years of playing, maybe not for <em>Royal</em>, he might only have another season for <em>Royal</em>, but for another CPL team or could he come back up here, maybe?</p><p> </p><p>Sansa is still looking daggers at her brother, Rickon is still looking at him, kind of sweetly actually, as if he is hopeful.</p><p> </p><p>“Erm, I don’t really dance,” says Jon.</p><p> </p><p>“What’s that thing then? With the ball?” Sansa asks.</p><p> </p><p>“What thing with the ball?” Jon says, there is a little flicker in his heart that she has paid any attention to football at all, even though he generally finds her disinterest entirely liberating. He likes that they have discussions about music and telly and games and books, that she doesn’t just acquiesce to his opinion. He likes that he can talk to her about the refugee centre he’s supporting in Kings Landing and the outreach programme that has meant a gymnast who grew up on the Antler River will probably medal at the Olympics without feeling he is trying to sell something.</p><p> </p><p>“That thing, you kind of look like you’re not kicking it, and sometimes you like spin and change direction really quickly,” she’s gesturing with her hands in some way, which looks like, maybe, she’s trying to imitate his feet.</p><p> </p><p>“A step-over?”</p><p> </p><p>“It definitely looks like dancing,” claims Sansa, “and what about the Nike advert?”</p><p> </p><p>Sansa actually goes a little pink when she mentions the Nike advert and Jon hopes he’s not blushing too, he has to dig his nails into his palms to banish thoughts of the places the Nike advert took them that first time she came down to Kings Landing.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>The evening before</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>In the car from the airport Jon feels oddly nervous, Sansa has managed to come down to Kings Landing about twice a month since the Group Stage match against <em>Winterfell </em>last year but Jon has not been back to the North. He feels a bit strange about going to her flat, will she be on her own? Will her family and friends burst in on them at any moment. The chaos was oddly homely last time, considering how regimented Jon’s life usually is. Still, right now he’d rather have Sansa all to himself.</p><p> </p><p>When she opens the door, she’s standing there in his jumper, just his jumper, her long legs gleaming, her hair a swish over one shoulder, her laugh a delicious bait ready to catch him.</p><p> </p><p>He takes the bait and kisses her, hands held to her waist, rucking up soft wool, so that it is her skin he feels pressed against him.</p><p> </p><p>“Are you alone?” He asks as she moves to kiss his jaw.</p><p> </p><p>“No,” she says, “you’re here, but we’re alone.”</p><p> </p><p>She pulls him further into the flat and closes the door, still kissing him, pressing him against the wall.</p><p> </p><p>He pulls on the edge of the jumper, he has forgotten, if he ever knew, just how soft this jumper is.</p><p> </p><p>“How did you get this?” He asks her.</p><p> </p><p>“You left it behind,” she breathes into his ear between kisses.</p><p> </p><p>“It suits you,” he says pushing his hands underneath it, her skin is softer still and she ripples with his touch.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, do you like me in the jumper, do you want me in the jumper?” She asks, and it is quiet but her laugh is still a bait and Jon can only nod.</p><p> </p><p>“How do want me?” She asks as she leads him away and he tells her every which way he wants her.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>The morning</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>A stiller boy, with calm thoughtful eyes, comes in with olives, and little crackers, he looks at Rickon and there is a tiny flick of a smile but then he looks at Jon politely.</p><p> </p><p>“This is my brother Bran,” Sansa says, “this is Jon.”</p><p> </p><p>Bran puts down the olives and offers Jon his hand, “hi,” he says, with a smile.</p><p> </p><p>“Hi, I’ve heard lots about you,” Jon says, this is how you’re supposed to talk to teenagers, right? “You’re starting at Oldtown in the autumn?”</p><p> </p><p>Bran nods, “That’s right, I’m starting my MMathPhil, I had two years out, I’ve just come back from helping build carbon neutral homes in the Frostfangs, so it will be a bit different.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah,” says Jon.</p><p> </p><p>“So you’re the footballer?” Bran asks.</p><p> </p><p>‘’Yeah,” Jon wonders if he is supposed to add something, “I played up at Hardhome, a long time ago, actually,” he means to talk about the Frostfangs, but Bran interrupts him.</p><p> </p><p>“I know,” says Bran, “you were the youngest starting player in their First Division, you scored 13 goals and had 16 assists, in 38 matches, which is actually the highest goal ratio of any under-21 midfielder ever, across all the Westerosi leagues.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, I thought,” Jon starts, he’s not really sure what to do with this fact bombardment.</p><p> </p><p>“Although” Bran continues as if he hasn’t spoken, “you also have the second highest number of red cards for any under-21 player across all the Westerosi leagues, after Ramsay Bolton, and interestingly, you, in fact received a 3 match ban, and a red card of course, for the tackle which ostensibly ended Bolton’s career.”</p><p> </p><p>Jon just looks at the floor, he’s never talked to Sansa about that.</p><p> </p><p>“To your credit, since that incident you have not received any red cards, although…”</p><p> </p><p>“Sansa said you weren’t a big football fan,” Jon says quickly interrupting him.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m not,” says Bran, “I’m just good at remembering stuff.”</p><p> </p><p>“Bran has an eidetic memory,” says Catelyn proudly.</p><p> </p><p>“Well the science around whether it is even possible to have an eidetic memory is inconclusive,” says Bran, “also eidetic memory implies I would only retain information for a short period of time, which would not necessarily be very useful.”</p><p> </p><p>“If we’re not going to do the dancing,” says Rickon in a rush, his mouth apparently still full of the crackers Bran brought, “maybe you could jump off the garage for me, that’s what got me my highest number of likes and sh-“ he suddenly looks at his mother as if he has forgotten she was there, “stuff.”</p><p> </p><p>“Rickon,” says Catelyn, “Jon is a professional footballer, he cannot jump off a garage, his legs are probably insured for millions of dragons. <em>You</em> cannot jump off a garage again, because if you do I will take your phone and all your other devices and I will smash them with that hammer your father borrowed from Mikken and hasn’t returned. Do you understand?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes, Mum,” says Rickon, “Are your legs really insured for millions?”</p><p> </p><p>“It wasn’t my idea,” says Jon quickly, he always feels faintly ridiculous that his body is insured, as if it has a value independent of him.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>The night before</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>They lie in Sansa’s bed, she has put his jumper back on, she is rubbing the cuff quite contentedly as she yawns and her whole body slinks against his softly.</p><p> </p><p>“So, I’ve suggested we go to my parents tomorrow for lunch, is that ok with you still?” She asks.</p><p> </p><p>“Yes,” Jon says.</p><p> </p><p>Jon wants to meet her parents. He wants for this to become more concrete, not just snatched midweek afternoons and very occasional Sundays because he has training and matches and she is busy planning the new refuge and supporting the current staff and her role seems to change day by day with the new grant. He is just not sure how it becomes more concrete, he still has another season at <em>Royal </em>left, and he planned to renegotiate, before he tried for a transfer. There’s even a little bit of him that imagines being manager some day, he’s not sure how that fits with Sansa’s dreams.</p><p> </p><p>“Do you think you’ll always live here?” He asks her.</p><p> </p><p>“In this flat?” She asks, she sounds kind of sleepy.</p><p> </p><p>“No,” he says “I meant Wintertown, or The North.”</p><p> </p><p>She looks up at him, for minute, her little flicker of a frown worries him slightly.</p><p> </p><p>“Is this a <em>how serious are we</em> conversation?” She says.</p><p> </p><p>“I suppose so,” Jon is aware of how gruff he sounds.</p><p> </p><p>“Well, I’d really want for the new refuge to be up and running before I moved anywhere, and I don’t know how my job looks if I’m not based here, it’s something I’d have to plan with Brienne, about whether we extend the charity into other places, or,” she stops and swallows.</p><p> </p><p>He just holds her, kicking himself, metaphorically anyway. Of course their dreams don’t fit together very well, he can’t expect her to just let go of her charity and come running off after him. He is not some kind of Galactic, who expects everyone to just follow him around. Obviously, that’s exactly how the <em>Royal Kings Landing</em> PR team sell him to the world, but that’s not who he really is.</p><p> </p><p>He can show Sansa that, somehow. He will.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>The Morning</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>Sansa’s dad, Ned, comes in with more olives and more crackers and dip.</p><p> </p><p>“The lamb is in the oven,” he announces, “So Jon, how long do you think you’ll stay at <em>Royal Kings Landing</em>? Any chance you might return to old pastures?”</p><p> </p><p>“Er?” Jon says.</p><p> </p><p>“He means here, I think” says Sansa, “you played for <em>Wintertown</em>, right?”</p><p> </p><p>“Sansa,” says Rickon shaking his head demonstratively.</p><p> </p><p>“What?” Sansa says.</p><p> </p><p>“Well I played for <em>Winterfell</em>,” Jon tries to explain.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah exactly,” says Sansa.</p><p> </p><p>“Fortunately, he didn’t play for <em>Wintertown</em>, otherwise he wouldn’t be allowed in this house,” says Ned.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m so confused,” Sansa claims.</p><p> </p><p>“There is a team called <em>Winterfell F.C.</em>, they also get called the Wolves, because they have a wolf as their crest, and a team called <em>Wintertown United.</em> These two teams are, as is the tradition within football, deadly rivals,” says Bran.</p><p> </p><p>“Deadly rivals?” Sansa says, rather facetiously in Jon’s opinion.</p><p> </p><p>“Yes, no more talk of the Townies will be permitted in this house,” says Ned.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh,” says Sansa, “that’s why Robb wouldn’t talk to Waymar Royce, cos he supports the <em>Wintertown</em> ones.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, I saw Waymar’s Uncle, in the supermarket, apparently he is doing very well up at Castle Black,” Catelyn says to her daughter. She turns to Jon and continues, “Waymar was Sansa’s first boyfriend.”</p><p> </p><p>Jon looks at Sansa, she gives him the tiniest shake of her head.</p><p> </p><p>“Anyway,” says Ned, “we still don’t know if he’ll come back here. Will you Jon?”</p><p> </p><p>“So my contract,” Jon begins.</p><p> </p><p>“I mean we could really use you lad and you’ve still got a few good years left in you, and obviously Sansa is here,” Ned claims.</p><p> </p><p>Just then there is a kind of kerfuffle in the hall.</p><p> </p><p>“What are you doing here?” Someone is asking loudly, Jon thinks it is probably Sansa’s sister Arya.</p><p> </p><p>“What are you doing here, pest?” Someone else replies, “you’re the troublemaker, whereas I, I am the social glue of any decent gathering.”</p><p> </p><p>A short, lilac haired young woman and a tall young man who immediately raises his eyebrows at Jon, barrel through the living room door as if they were pushing to see who could get through first. The woman is Arya, and Jon recognises the man as Theon, who is either Sansa’s brother’s best friend or possibly Sansa’s best friend, Jon is never quite sure.</p><p> </p><p>“Snow,” says Theon “good to see you again,” and he falls down on the sofa next to Jon.</p><p> </p><p>“Is Dad trying to persuade you to come back to the Wolves?” Says Arya, “Dad, he’s not a miracle, we can’t fix it with one player, we need a whole rethink, we’re just not suited to this very defensive football that Lannister has us playing, we need to be much more attacking, we can’t rely on one goal and then putting our backs to the wall.”</p><p> </p><p>“Well, Jon would give us that,” claims Ned, “Bran explain what you told me yesterday about when managers play Jon on the left hand side.”</p><p> </p><p>Jon just holds Sansa’s hand, it feels rather nice, safe and chaotic and homely and loud.</p><p> </p><p>“What about sea shanties?” Rickon asks, suddenly, “sea shanties aren’t dangerous.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m good with sea shanties,” claims Theon, he turns to Jon “my family, literally all weird sailors, if you want to know about seamen, I’m the person to ask, or seawomen, of course.”</p><p> </p><p>Sansa reaches over Jon and pretends to slap him.</p><p> </p><p>Arya is attempting to argue with Bran about the Wolves record under Jaime Lannister. Catelyn is whispering to Ned about them needing more olives. Rickon is apparently attempting to sing a sea shanty.</p><p> </p><p>Sansa’s brother Robb appears in the doorway, everyone stops and looks at him.</p><p> </p><p>“Hi” he says, he looks at Jon very briefly, but then he just runs off. Again.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I made a Tumblr - <a href="https://st-clements-steps.tumblr.com">st-clements-steps</a></p></blockquote></div></div>
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